


freedom fighting.

by cassandor



Series: with wills of phrik and hearts of kyber [2]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cassian Backstory, Fusion of Star Wars Legends and Disney Canon, Gen, Kid!Cassian, Pre-Canon, how do u politic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2018-11-09 20:56:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11112726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassandor/pseuds/cassandor
Summary: The fate of Fest and the fate of a certain Andor are one and the same. But maybe the Rebellion will have a chance.(The rise and fall of the Festian Resistance.)





	1. Prologue: how it ends.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~21 BBY
> 
> The war must end, he thinks grimly, before the entire galaxy becomes a battlefield bloodier than Fest.

Jeron Andor looks up at the sky, white snow crunching under his feet.

But was it truly white? The snow seemed to have dulled in comparison to the bright dayblooms that had just sprouted around his home, red veins glittering with the promise of new Life. Its colour was no match to the artificial shine of the white shelled clone troopers he had now seen marching across the galaxy. 

 _The war must end,_  he thinks grimly,  _before the entire galaxy becomes a battlefield bloodier than Fest._

His wife’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts. “Ready to leave?” she asks, a hand on his shoulder.

He turns and smiles at her. “As ready as I can be.”

“You can stay, you know.” Her eyes flicker to the dayblooms. 

“It wouldn’t be right for me to stay behind. We all have families, Esper. This gathering at Carida - it’s one of the last chances we have.”

“When will you come back, pa?”

Jeron’s gaze drops to his son. He ruffles his hair. “Soon,” he replies, and his other hand drops to Esper’s side. “Before your sister arrives.” 

“Alright,” Cassian replies softly. “Just come back.” 

“I will,” Jeron replies, and he makes his way to the waiting transport. 

(He doesn’t.)


	2. the beginning (of the end).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 26 BBY.

“And now, the chair recognizes the delegation from… Fest.”

Jeron Luciano Andor steps up to the front of the pod and a wave of vertigo washes over him. Reassuring glances are sent his way by the rest of his team: a bright-eyed smile, a brusque nod. ( _Team_ , he thinks. _Leaders_ is what Travia calls them but Jeron is uncomfortable with the hefty title. He is a simple man who desires only the wellbeing of his people. His wife. His newborn son.)

He clears his throat, the comparatively humid and damp air settling around at his vocal cords, before leaning towards the microphone.

“Our humble thanks to the honourable representatives of the Republic for welcoming our modest delegation and for giving their time to our concerns,” he begins, heart threatening to burst from his chest. He is acutely aware of the thousands of ocular appendages focusing on his fur-shrouded figure projected on screens throughout the Senate; of thousands of the Republic’s Senators scrutinizing his melodiously rumbling voice as it weaves his people’s story in carefully practised Basic.

Jeron begins to speak as if he was seated comfortably in front of a bonfire instead of representatives for thousands of the galaxy’s most influential systems, as if his hands were intertwined with his wife’s instead of clutching the railing of the pod. He grows more confident as time passes. Nobody on Fest knows the tales that make up the fabric of their history better than he.

He skims quickly through their rich and elegant history, his words like fingers plucking at patches in a quilt, choosing the best stories that appeal to the Senate’s senses.

“We feel neglected by the Republic,” he tentatively concludes, “as a Outer Rim planet poor in wealth but rich in culture and nature, we-” and suddenly Jeron can feel the energies shift. He steadies himself by gripping the railing tighter. “-we request your assistance. We are at war with our neighbours, and this conflict has proven devastating for both sides.” Disinterested eyes flicker to datapads, murmurs arise in the depths of the crowd. Nervous energy courses through his body as he continues with his speech, but his shoulders slowly begin to sag with defeat.

He sits down, dejected, and a hand touches his wrist.

“These Senators, this Republic, they do _not_ care for the struggles of a poor Outer Rim planet that isn’t even part of the Republic,” Travia hisses in Festian.

“I hoped they would. I-we offered to join them.”

“They don’t care,” Matias huffs. “I don’t think anyone even listened to your conclusion.”

Jeron sighs and leans against the cushioned chair, the weariness of long distance travel and homesickness settling in his bones. “You are right,” he admits, watching the pod from Mantooine move forward. “You are right.”

“The chair thanks the delegation from Fest for their appeal,” says the Chancellor. “A vote will now be conducted on whether the Republic should send aid to defend Fest from Mantooine.”

Minutes shrink to seconds, and their luck melts away like snow.

“Nobody heard us,” Jeron laments as they make their way to their waiting ship.

Matias opens his mouth to reply just as a cloaked figure crosses the hall to meet them.

“Do not fret that your pleas have fallen on deaf ears, my friends,” the man says. “We have a proposition for you.”

“What kind?” Travia asks.

“The kind for those who have been neglected by the Republic.” The man grins. “We call ourselves the Confederacy.”

* * *

“Do you think the factory will be good for us?” Esper asks with Cassian struggling in her arms, as they watch the first of Confederate ships lands on Fest’s snowy landscape.

“I think so,” Jeron replies over the sound of his wife gently shushing the toddler. “They say phlik is a valuable resource. Harvesting it will give us jobs and credits we so desperately need.”

“Why didn’t the Republic want us, then? Why does this… _Confederacy_ care for us?” As always, Esper had a knack for voicing his own concerns.

“The Confederacy contains many systems like ours: neglected by the Republic, split apart by war. And like us, they decided they’d had enough.”

“That’s what _they_ told you, Jer. What do _you_ think?” Once again, Esper points out the flaw in his argument. _It wasn’t his._

He looks away from the window, at the innumerable figures descending from transport ramps, and glances at his wife who held her head high with determination, concern simmering in her eyes. “I don’t know,” he murmurs, gently stroking Cassian’s hair. Cassian reaches up and grabs his hand in response, tiny hand grasping at his wrist, and Jeron smiles down at him. “We shall hope for the best.”


	3. in a name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 26 BBY  
> (before the last scene in the previous chapter.)

They both hope - and hope is powerful, for it is the last possession of the downtrodden - that the path they have laid will lead to a future where their son will never need to shoulder the burden of revolution. The reality of their lives, however, and the increasing unrest in their Republic-ruled galaxy casts a darkening shadow over that future.

So when Esper suggests a name that strikes a balance between those two futures, Jeron agrees immediately.

“Cass means _hero_. Cass _ian_ is to become one,” he announces. The packed room is so quiet one could hear snowflakes meet their end on the windows.

A singular voice gives way to murmurs. “ _Cassian_ is a martyr.”

Esper raises her chin, steady and sure as always, and the room falls silent once again. “We know.”  

At that, the eldest member of their family – Jeron’s grandmother, so wizened she remembers the last time an offworlder set foot on their planet – takes the baby up in her arms.

“Cassian, Cassian, Cassian,” she announces for all the galaxy to hear. “Son of Jeronimo and Esperanza of the family Andor. Born at the end of the blizzard season, heralding a better future.”  

The baby does not cry or giggle – he merely regards the festivities with curious eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize Festian is (by fanon at least) Space!Spanish and Cassian does not actually mean 'to become a hero' (in English)... but I took the artistic liberty and added his name to the (ancient?) Festian vocabulary.  
> (I wasn't planning on this chapter, but the idea didn't let go.)


	4. decisions, decisions, decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~21 BBY.

“Es,” Jeron ventures, setting his datapad on the table, and the gravity of the subject must have seeped into his voice because his wife looks up from her work with apprehension brimming past the edges of her irises.

“I’m listening.”

“I’m…. I’m thinking about bringing the group back together and… taking them to go protest the Republic. Again.” Esper watches him with interest, waiting patiently for him to continue. When he stops speaking, she prompts:

“Where?”

Jeron swallows, nerves bristling. An idea shot down by Esper was an idea not worthy to exist. This idea was possibly the most dangerous he’d ever come up with, and so his voice wavers uncharacteristically as he replies. “Carida. There’s a major Republic military training facility on the planet. We… If we hold a protest there, they’ll listen. They’ll _have_ to listen.”

Esper studies him closely, and Jeron can feel the scrutinizing heat in her gaze. She’s not poising herself to strike, nor is she outright worried. She was neither antagonistic nor fearful by nature. She is studying him closely, waiting to see all the options unfold under her gaze like the petals of a wishbloom.

“Why direct protest?” Esper asks pointedly. “Why now, after five years of the Confederacy’s factories running on our planet?” She tilts her head at him curiously, sending ripples through her long dark hair like waves, mirroring the depth in her eyes as she speaks. Jeron knows her doubts aren’t raised with conviction, but rather she’s playing the devil’s advocate – because Esper had been wary of the _offworlders_ from the start.

“This war needs to end. It’s gone on far too long already, and now that…” Jeron has to pause and let the squeeze of his heart wane, we’re about to welcome a second child…” His gaze meets Esper’s who offers him a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“I think peaceful protest is the way to go.”

“Why not go to the Senate once again?” she suggests with a purse of her lips.

Jeron sighs. “I considered it, but you know what happened last time – and now we’re a Separist planet. Even if we aren’t officially part of the coalition, we’re thriving on their credits. Es, we’re the Republic’s enemy.”

“Not all of us, it seems,” Esper says offhandedly, glancing out the window at Cassian running around in the snow, chasing the eddying snowflakes that continually elude his grasp. “ _You_ still trust the Republic.”

“I don’t, not after that fiasco, not after that _Emergency Power Act,_ ” Jeron says, mouth fumbling around the Basic. Esper nods solemnly, a darkness creeping into the hard lines of her face. “But…” he pauses, watching a knowing smile flicker briefly in Esper’s eyes. “Have you heard the whispers of resistance in the Senate? Of this _Delegation_ of Senators?”

“The Delegation of Two Thousand,” Esper murmurs, and then repeats the title in Festian which garners a sharp nod from Jeron. “Senators who oppose the Republic’s militarization and Palpatine’s heavy handed approach to the war. Yes, I know of it.” Her chin juts out with a realization. “What about it?”

Jeron exhales slowly, and leans back in his chair, clasping his hands together on the table in front of him. “I have a way to contact one of the Senators that is a part of it.”

Jeron can’t remember the last time he saw Esper be surprised. His only recollections are of feigned gasps and widening eyes as Cassian parroted excerpts of newly discovered information with a child’s lisp and excitement. Here, Esper’s eyebrows rise for a fleeting instant, and she leans forward with interest, fingers curling around his clasped hands. 

“How?”

* * *

**26 BBY, The Galactic Senate.**

“Mr. Andor?”

They’re making their way back to their ship after their brief meeting with the representative of the _Confederacy of Independent Systems,_ as he called it. Jeron isn’t expecting anyone else to take interest in Fest’s problems, so when he hears his name being called in a Core accent that reverberates down the halls of the Senate’s exterior corridors, he turns.

It’s a girl. She’s dressed in an all-white gown that caresses the tiled floor as she hurriedly walks up to their motley group, one hand extended just past her frame. She’s tall for a human female – still shorter than Jeron and most of their small delegation, but the air she carries defies both her stature and age, and Jeron finds himself transfixed.

She stops in front of him, taking a moment to catch her breath, and it is then that he realizes the girl is a _Senator_. “You can call me Jeron, Senator,” he says as warmly and polite as he can, despite Basic’s ability to cut politeness out of his mouth in swathes. He finds himself, once again, wondering if his deference comes off as rude.

She smiles up at him. “I was worried I missed you all,” she says, glancing towards Travia, Metias, Isabel, and the other members of their group. The stately smile drops from her face as she adds: “I am very sorry to say we cannot help your planet, Jeron. I wish we could do something.”

He bows his head, ready for a barrage of excuses.

“However… do not feel as though you have no friends here in the Senate. There are many of us who… wish the Republic would extend a helping hand out into the Outer Rim. Please take solace in the fact there are still politicians – however few we may seem – that support the best interests of far-flung worlds like yours.” She opens her fist, revealing a small scrap of flimsy, and presses it into his hand. “I sense – I am no Jedi, but the Jedi I am familiar with say the same thing – that there is a great change waiting for us on the horizon. For better, or for worse.” Her hand drops back to her side, and Jeron takes a moment to glance at it.

Contact information, hastily written.

_Mon Mothma, Senator of Chandrila._

“Chandrila is one of the most peaceful of the Core Worlds, and often overlooked. Our voice in the Senate,” and her lips curl into a slight, satirical smile, “may be quiet, young, and inexperienced - but always well informed. Please, if you ever need a helping hand,” she nods towards his hands. “I’m a comm away.”

Jeron gapes, truly and utterly gapes, at his hand, and then looks at the young Senator.

“I know this will not solve your problems now, but I do hope I may be able to help your people in the future. I have to return to my seat, now. A Senator can only leave the Senate for so long,” she says with a thin-lipped smile. “There is nothing a politician love smore than finding flaws in another, especially one that is barely twenty.”

Jeron manages to find his voice. “Thank you,” he says, hand pressed to his chest. “Thank you.”

“It is the best I can do, Mr. Andor. I hope we meet again.” The Senator smiles again with a slight bow, and disappears down the corridor from which she came.

“I hope so too.” he says to the young girl’s disappearing figure.

He turns to the rest of the group in disbelief. “What was _that?_ ” Travia half-exclaims, her normally cool composure utterly rattled by the encounter.  

“A flicker of light in a confusing, confusing, galaxy,” Jeron replies, neatly tucking the flimsi into his pocket.

* * *

“You never told me,” Esper muses. Jeron loosens his grip, letting Esper’s hands slip into his.

“I didn’t think I had a reason to. The Confederacy had already offered us something better than a scrap of flimsy – a plan backed with actual credits. But I held on to the contact information, and it turns out Senator Mothma of Chandrila is one of the members of the Delegation of Two Thousand.”

“You’re going to try and meet her, then?” Jeron can’t help but notice the eagerness in her voice.

“Maybe not _her_ , but someone in the Delegation. Tell them we’re on their side, that we’re only Separtists in title but not practise, and we’re against this war as much as they are.”

“Will they trust us?”

“I hope so,” Jeron says, but his heart is already hardened against it. “If this falls through, I think Carida is still the better option.”

He watches the light fade from Esper’s eyes, and her shoulders lean forward with resignation.

 “You’re worried,” he murmurs, intertwining their fingers together and rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb. “Why?”

“Carida is a Republic military installation, and we’re _Separists._ Of course I’m worried. I think you should pursue this lead,” she says, tapping his datapad, “instead of that one.”

Just then, Cassian comes bounding in the front door, shouting a good-bye to his cousin. Esper turns at the sound of the thump-thump-thump of boots smashing the floor.

“Outside, Cass, you don’t want to make a puddle on the floor!” Esper calls.

Cassian materializes in the doorway, a broad smile on his face, socks dripping wet. “I know!” He cheerily faces his father, who smiles and gestures for him to come over. Cassian ambles towards him and gasps in surprise as Jeron picks him up around the waist and sits him in his lap.

“How was it, Cass?” Jeron says, gently brushing snow from Cassian’s hair.

“It’s cold. I’m tired,” Cassian replies and yawns for emphasis. Esper smiles and brushes a strand of hair out of his eyes.

“Alright buddy,” Jeron murmurs into his ear. “You can nap right here. I’m talking to your mother.”

“About what?” Cassian asks, lifting a hand to his mouth.

“She’s _worried,_ ” Jeron replies teasingly, and Esper shoots him a look of disapproval.

“Why, ma?”

Jeron raises a playful eyebrow at Esper, burying his tension under Cassian' weight on his lap. “Exactly. Why worry? I have a plan, Esper. Have faith, be it in the northern wind or in the Force. Justice will always prevail in the end. I have hope.” 

Esper sighs, and cups his face in the palm of her hand. “I’m just worried about Cass.” 

Cassian laughs a child’s laugh, bright like sunshine on sparkling new snow. “I’ll be fine, ma. As long as _you’re_ with me.”

Jeron’s heart tightens, and he can see the same feeling written on Esper’s face. “That’s what I’m worried about.” If the protests turned violent… Jeron didn’t want to consider the consequences. He had to, though, for the security of his own family.

“Our son is one of the most perceptive souls Fest has given life to,” he says soothingly, tucking a loose lock of hair behind Esper’s ear. “You know what everyone’s been saying about him. He will be fine. Even if we’re gone.  _When_  we’re gone. He feels the people’s suffering, Esper. He feels it deeply. The need to end their pain will supersede any pain of his own. And he will keep fighting, even long after our bodies freeze over and our souls become one with the Force.”

Jeron doesn’t say _I will always come back_ , he says _you will move on without me_. It’s not cynicisms that loosens those words from his mind, but utter belief in the boy in his arms. He sees that same belief simmer in Esper’s expression, chafing against her worry until she leans back, her face a mask of the steady calm he’s used to seeing.

He sighs, and sticks an unsteady thumb under Cassian’s chin, lifting his face to meet his. “Did you hear that?”

“Yes, pa.” 

“Remember this, always. We fight for you. We fight so you have a better future. But this fight is bigger than all of us, bigger than me and you and your mother and our families and even all of Fest. It is as big as the universe. Do you understand?”

He hopes Cassian will understand eventually, if not today.

(Deep in his heart, Jeron hopes he _never_ has to understand, and Cassian can remain their beloved, cheery son for as long as the northern wind wills it.)

“Yes, pa.” 

Jeron smiles and presses a kiss to his forehead. “That’s my boy.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone out there may recognize part of Jeron's dialogue from my cassian week fic (which is later referenced in my cassian sole survivor AU). I wanted to have that be part of the 'canon' of this series, so here it is!


	5. the unlikely ally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 21 BBY.

 “… delegation from some _backwater_ planet-”

“No planet is unimportant.”

The Senator interjects calmly, her heavy, ornate robes swirling around her ankles as she turns to her fresh-faced aide. “Every being, every struggle, matters.”

A slave boy from a forgotten planet is the Republic’s greatest hero. A discriminated species helped save her planet. Her own ignorance of the suffering of slaves is a regret that weighs her down like chains.

 “It is _this_ dismissal of the struggles of the Outer Rim that will cause the fall of the Republic.” The words taste sour in her mouth and she stiffens, robes falling slack against her sides. “Not if I can help it, of course,” she adds, and her rouge-red lips turn up slightly. If taking the youth of the Core planets under her wing and teaching them to care for the suffering of others would secure democracy and stabilize the Republic, she will do it without a second thought.

 “My apologies, Senator Amidala. We just need to arrange for a translator droid. All the official translators are busy in a ceasefire meeting with the Chancellor.”

“Take my personal protocol droid,” the former Queen replies without hesitation. “Threepio?”

“Yes, my lady?” The golden droid totters to her side, tilting its head to the side. “How can I be of service?” it proclaims.

“You are familiar with…” she arches an eyebrow at the aide.

The aide checks their notes. “Festian.”

“… _Festian_ , aren’t you?”

“I am fluent in over six million forms of communication, my lady. Festian is indeed one of them.”

“Excellent.” She smiles broadly, now, a ghost of the fourteen-year-old who once scaled the walls of Theed’s Royal Palace. “Then I have a job for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :DDDD I've been waiting to post this for a while! Padme & Cassian are my two fav star wars characters so it was time I included her! I saw a post a while back, after I had written this scene out, that said Padme should've done something about the slave situation on Tatooine form her position of privileged. I feel she probably regrets not doing anything about it, hence her deep involvement with the Delegation of 2000 afterwards (and I like to think she took every chance to do something for the cause. She is the mother of the Rebellion after all :) )


	6. in the end...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 20 BBY  
> We knew this was coming.

In hindsight, Jeron should've known.

But when Travia pulls out her blaster and shoots the panel just above the heads of a Republic military cadets standing at attention his only reaction is shock. He turns around to catch the briefest glint of her hair as she disappears into the crowd now thrown into chaos.

She'd always been a woman of actions, not words.

Perhaps it was her, not him, that the galaxy needed. 

Jeron is stuck in place, long enough for him to be misinterpreted as the source of the shot, and his side erupts in what feels like flames.

He falls as the crowd screams around him, and the sound of blasterfire ringing on both sides registers in his subconscious.

But his thoughts, as he bleeds, turn to Fest.

Cassian.

Esper.

His unborn child.

And, of course, at last, and always:

Freedom.

 


End file.
